


Wild, Wild Desire

by PastelWonder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A light smattering of Consensual Strangling, Alternate Universe, Bodice Ripping (Literally), Deep-Kissing, Established Relationship, F/M, Fingering, Love-play, Mayor's daughter Rose, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sheriff Hux, Simultaneous Orgasm, Wild West Role Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26176846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: The taste of love is sweet / When hearts like ours meetIt’s taken Rose Hux weeks to convince her husband to give their flagging sex life one more push...For Ginger Rose Kinkweeks. Yippee ki-yay, motha fuckahs!
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 23
Kudos: 75
Collections: GingerRose Kink Weeks





	Wild, Wild Desire

The dress looks nothing like it did on Amazon.

Rose was expecting something sensual. Cosplay-ish. A caricature of a sassy, hip-swaying saloon girl. Sheer bustled black lace skirt-and-red polyester bustier vibes.

The warehouse must have made a mistake.

It happens. Last week she ordered Crest White Strips and got grout cleaner instead.

This is... decidedly more panic-worthy. It’s taken Rose _weeks_ to convince her husband - the austere, imperious, infamously _vanilla_ Armitage Hux - to give their flagging sex life one more push. It's not that she doesn’t love the way he makes love to her - she does. She absolutely does. She didn’t have many – okay, any - partners before him and, for all his coldness outside the bedroom, where he is wary of outside perceptions and judgey eyes, between the sheets he’s... achingly tender. Generous. _Thorough._ It isn't that, in every way that counts, she isn't fundamentally satisfied.

She is.

Totally.

It's just-

Ever since Kaydel’s Harry Potter-themed Halloween birthday party, Rose has rediscovered her love for the childhood books, and for the... well, _darker_ fan works she read all the time in college and as a shining young professional. Before she got married and distracted by _other things_.

After getting sucked down the delicious, dark-whorling drainhole of Tomaine and Sevginny dubious consent stories, Rose finds herself... _aching_. Old fantasies bloom under a full moon like nightshade flowers after years of lying dormant inside her. And unlike all her college and young professional years, when she had only her fingers and a vibe she bought at a Starship in what was the most uncomfortably creepy ten minute shopping experience of her life - Rose _has_ a man to act out her fantasies with.

A gorgeous, _tall_ , imperial, big-dicked mother fucker.

Who turns out is a total prude.

Rose sighs at her reflection in the closet's full length mirror.

After their last epic fail at dark love-play, which ended in his riding her _slightly_ harder than usual before squawking " _Good God!_ " when she subtly, shyly moved his big, hard, beautiful hand to her throat, and then him giving her a lecture _while still inside of her_ about the perils and notable deaths due to autoerotic asphyxiation, and her crying in the commode with the door shut because she just felt so fucking _rejected_ , and him pleading quietly at the door for her to come out-

They had both agreed to give it another shot. Maybe... maybe if they were different _people_... _really_ different people... her husband could forget that she was his fragile, beautiful chinadoll baby and just...

fuck her through a wall?

_But not in_ this _piece of frill,_ Rose thinks bitterly. She looks a heck of a lot less like a hot-to-trot saloon whore and more like Laura Ingles from _Little House in the Big Woods_. The dress is _long_ , touching the top of her feet, and... _darling_ , is the only way Rose can think to describe it. Soft pink brocade instead of cheap red satin. Blue silk bows along the bustling and pretty cream-colored lace. She looks like Little Bow Peep. Hair done up, cheeks rogued and fake mink lashes like the kind Cardi B wears tacked on. Not to mention she ordered a size _Large_ and what they sent was a 6-9 months. The corset is _tight_ , her breasts spill over the lacy neckline and wobble every time she takes a gasping, consumption breath.

It takes her twenty minutes to get down the stairs.

Now she's in her Ikea-renovated kitchen, looking like a stuffed, jiggly-titty Little Miss Muppet against the backdrop of sleek pale pinewood and gleaming white subway tile. In cream lace gloves and this tight, dumb dress. Her ribs ache. She doesn't think she can take another disappointment on the sex front. She's already having a hard time getting wet enough to take him without added lube. He's big and she's small and she's _over it_. The soft neck nibbles and the breathy, _my dahlings_ like she's Cora in Downton Abbey.

Maybe this is just marriage.

Maybe-

_“Garage door open,”_ their high-tech alarm system chimes.

Tage makes way morning money than she does as a project manager for Phirst Order Pharmaceuticals. They met years ago, when he came to Rebel Designs looking for a new logo for his company team. They have a big house in the Valley now, sleek furniture and all the fancy appliances and gismos and alarm systems to match.

_Jesus Rose just be grateful and stop pushing this poor man to the max-_

Her hands wring guiltily in front of her sweet lace and pale damask skirt.

He'll turn the corner, probably looking just as ridiculous in his cowboy-best, and they'll laugh and he'll peel her out of this and help her check for bruised ribs and then they'll order take out and later they’ll watch _Blue Planet_ and make tasteful, mediocre love and go to bed. She'll masturbate on the weekends when she’s alone to dark duncon and they'll just put this chapter behind-

behind...

him?

He's turned the corner from the mud room - _who the fuck needs a mud room in the Valley but okay_ \- to the kitchen-

and-

he-

"Shit," she says. Not at all out of breath because of the corset.

But because her man is beautiful. A dark Paul Newman fantasy with those long legs deep in denim jeans and those cold, killer-blue eyes. He's dressed more like a handsome, crooked oil baron from _Dynasty_ rather than a campy cowpoke. Today was Casual Friday, which he observed in a sleek black button down and a pair of dark wash Tommy Hilfigers which fit him like a glove. Muted black Timberland boots and in the car he must have put on the turquoise bolo tie she spent _eee…_ a little _too much_ money on. Because it was beautiful, a silver and black-burnished stallion head surrounded by real stones the color of her man's eyes. But it's the hat that's killing her softly.

Truly.

Jet black suede, well-shaped. Fitted over his burning hair slicked viciously to his skull. It shadows his gorgeous angular face and makes him look like a midnight rider. Like he's used to painting the town red and the preacher's wife white.

_Jeeez, Rose get a grip get a grip get a grip-_

The way he's _drinking_ her in beneath the brim of that hat, she's... well she's not gonna have a problem getting wet tonight. Even if he doesn't follow through on the fantasy, she will never forget the way he looks right now.

"H-howdy," she whimpers. _Jesus take the wheel_.

He says _absolutely_ nothing. Just keeps raking her up and down with those pale-burning eyes, dark stallion bolo tie against his beautiful white throat.

_Kay. Awkward._

"You- um... you from around here, Mister?" she plants a hand on the white quartz countertop of the kitchen island - _cheaper and more durable than marble_ , he had convinced her in the store - and her lace-gloved hand slips and she stumbles _hum-il-iat-ing-ly_.

Right into his chest.

She had no idea her husband could move so fast. Sure, he's a triathlete and like, super into health, but the reflex coil of his biceps, the sheer brutal _strength_ of his arms holding her waist a bit too tight is-

She definitely swoons.

"Wh-why thank you, kind sir," she whispers. Her breasts bob against his chest with each shallow, heightened breath.

It doesn't go unnoticed. He's speaking directly to her tits rather than her face as curtly, and still _indelibly_ British, he assures, "Not at all, ma'am."

_Kay. Cowboy butler. Nooot exactly the vibe._

_Be kind, Rose. Positive reinforcement._

His blue eyes like the Death Valley skies glint at her from beneath the brim of his hat. "I daresay a girl your age should not be wandering the streets at night."

_Oh._

"Oh," she squeaks. Cowboy Headmaster. She can- she can work with that.

"I," her Southern drawl is bit like her cooking skills. Improvised and _unique_. "I didden realize how late it was and I- was- well Lawd I think I'm a little lawst."

There is an uptick tick in the corner of his mouth, just a flash. A flicker. Before any humor snuffs out in those beautiful blue eyes.

"Lost your way in a shanty town of not fifty shanties? Doubtful," okay yeah, for sure, she can get with his accent with that hat and that bolo tie and his dark-gravel voice, "If I had to guess, I would say you were looking for trouble, Miss Tico-"

His eyes wander slowly, meaningfully down to her breasts. "Danger, even, I daresay."

"Why- what a suggestion!" she balks in his arms. It's not all fake either, her belly is fluttering like crazy and her heart is doing somersaults in her chest and she loves this man more than her own life but if he doesn't _come through_ on this shit talking she will _murder him_. She wriggles, flushed with something totally _not_ indignation and squeals, "I donn know who you thank you ahr, Mistah-"

In the gorgeous, glorious, long-awaited blink of an eye, his huge hand is around her throat.

"That's enough!" he hisses, giving her a little throttle for good measure. She wibbles, makes a choked _epp!_ and immediately he backs down.

"Good Lord, Rose have I hurt you?" anxiously, his hands examine her neck.

"Nonono! No no no- it's cool it's cool it's coolio cool cool cool," she puts his palm back on her bobbing throat, fingers spanning away from big, mean thumb. "It's awesome sauce, keep going keep going-"

"Alright, yes," he murmurs. Deathly serious, as if taking direction from a stage manager, and _shit_ she's going to laugh.

That is, until he clears is throat and squeezes hers again.

_Oh, yeah baby. Yeah. Like that-_

"You- should I attempt the accent?" he pauses long enough for a frantic shake of her head, "No, of course - _ah-hm-hm_ \- ah. _You_ , young lady, are out in these dangerous streets and-"

She can tell he's floundering. _Okay Rose, you've been with this man eleven years, you got this bitch. You got this._

_Hit him where he lives._

"But I wasn't tryin' to nothin' _indecent_ \- please you have tah believe me!" she struggles lightly at the arm behind her waist and _feels_ even through this crazy poofy skirt he is _hard_. As a _rock_. "I just wanted to have one drink at the saloon and maybe sit in a mahn's lap. Ain't no harm in that is thehre - Sheriff Hux?"

That's it - that's the golden ticket. _Authority._ _Power_. His eyes widen and then the blackness at their centers nearly swallow up that sweet-searing blue. His nostrils flare, he bends down back straight at her and she pushes her breasts wobbling above their lace neckline back at him.

"Miss Tico, I do not _abide_ child harlots in my town. I do believe you need to be taught a lesson. _Spare the rod_ ," his tone takes on a dark-gleaming edge she's never heard before.

_Oh. Okay_. So _that's_ how hard her heart can pound. Cool. Groovy.

Yeah.

Her breathing shallows out, mouth dry with the quick seesaw over her tongue that's getting faster by the nanosecond as he lowers closer and closer to her face. His hand is squeezing, she breathes in sips of air and it is _beautiful_. Beautiful.

"I'll make you regret this night and the one on which you were _born_ , girl," he simmers as his lashes lower over his eyes and lock in on her mouth.

Her pussy _gulps_ as they kiss.

She's not wearing panties, and this- this is a new experience for her. Juices _pouring_ , slick and hot down her inner thighs. His tongue in her mouth chokes her more - he fucks her with it, an animal kiss unlike any they've shared before. He wrings and shakes her a little as his head turns and their lips slot and he takes her at an even _deeper_ angle.

Her small, lace-gloved hands fist in his shirt and she hears it - the _battababat_ beat of horse hooves and the vicious snorts and chuffs of cattle and the _snap-crack_ of whips breaking over hard hides. She tastes the musk and dust and pipe tobacco. He kisses her so long-deep-hard she falls straight through the Rabbit Hole and lands in the wild, _wild_ west...

He breaks their kiss with a hard, wet sound which trails thin gossamer spit and rattle snake venom and immediately descends on her breasts. His love is _vicious_ , suckling, tugging. Biting. She keens and struggles but his hand around her throat shakes her and he lifts his head with its hat knocked back and blue eyes boring like the devil's and hisses, " _That's enough._ One more sound out of you, girl, and I'll take you in ways and places you've only read about in your Bible, clutching your little rosary to your heart and praying God spare you from the beast..."

_Holy. Shit_

Who _is_ this guy?

She whimpers, _trembles_. Like, literally. Her legs shake beneath her skirt and that's crazy because she's in her Ikea kitchen and this is make believe. But as his big white hands wrench and stretch her neckline so that her big, soft breasts spill brown and vulnerable into his harsh mouth, she clenches her eyes and bites her lip and tries to stay absolutely quiet.

He walks her around like she's a marionette with his bigger body and bolder steps and presses her back against the counter. Her back bends, his hand at her neck splays and pushes down on her collarbone and she arcs back a bit, quartz edge biting into her spine. Breathless as he suckles one fat, crinkled nipple into his wet mouth areole and all and _draws_.

His hand not collaring her like a colt who tried to slip her bridle wrenches in big handfuls her bustled, layered skirt. Reeling it up, exposing her thick, trembling thighs.

His fingers touch the hot slick there where she's most tender, fleshy and dimpled just before the soft, feathery down of her pussy and he _snarls_.

Big bear snarl.

_Whoa, Milli._ He's never made _that_ sound before.

No way this is his first time doing this - playing big mean lecher-Sheriff - because otherwise the timing wouldn't be so fucking hard-good-sobbing _perfect_ , when he turns her breast loose with one wet-squelching _pop_ and gobbles up the other, stroking expertly her sensitive tip with textured tongue in the exact breath he _rams_ his fingers up her cunt.

No tender _pet-petting_. No sweet-loving Papa kisses. No one-finger-two-finger-no-more.

Like a dark triumvirate - _judge, jury and executioner_ \- his trifold digits _slam_ into her, so hard and quick they bump her cervix and make her spread and make her _ache_.

Yep. Yepyepyep. She shrieks.

Shrieks and clinches and _wails_. Squirming whimpering at the thick, merciless intrusion as he rises over her, casting shadows from the wrought iron, exposed bulb pendant fixture above him with his bulk and black suede hat. The strings of his bolo tie sway and brush her bare tits as he sneers coolly, "No underthings, Miss Tico? My my my, what a little _slut_ we are..."

His fingers fuck fast and ugly inside her. Wet, sucking sounds from her pussy trying hard to grab onto him, to slow him down, to make him _wait_ \- She's used to him stretching her but- but-

" _Oh,_ " she whimpers.

Her belly swells and valleys with her fast-sieving pants.

Fingers still fucking _deep_ up in that shit, he lets her collar loose, wraps one strong, long arm around her waist and _hoists_ her. Hitches her like she's not flirting with a hundred and sixty pounds since her business went public and expanded and she learned how to put jam inside of cupcakes and since she started logging fucking her sweet vanilla husband and her desk yoga as exercise and since-

Whoa _Daddy_.

Her hair buffers most of her hard knock against the white quartz behind her. Her hair and his hand, snicked back there quicker than the strike of a viper, cradling her to take the impact, knuckles making an ugly sound as they knock. She knows that _had_ to hurt.

_You can drag outlaw out of the husband,_ she thinks, _gushing_ , panting, clenching and tremoring and shaking and aching and loving, _But you can't take the husband out of the outlaw..._

His face is anything but kind though as he rough-fucks her with his fingers and twists his fist in her bird's nest of bobby pins and curls and wrenches her hair.

She bows back on the countertop, sees upside her Brillo pad and Mrs. Meyers lemon and lavender dish soap by the sink. Then she doesn't see anything, except the sunlight prisming through the frosted glass window and her tears as he finds her sweet spot with a cruel crook of his fingers and _fucks_ -

She keens. He claps a big, hard hand over her little mouth.

"Did I not _instruct you_ to be _silent_ , Miss Tico," his voice is sin and smoke in her ear and sidewinding down her spine, "or would you prefer this whole filthy, sin-riddled town to come out and watch as you're _debauched_ -"

_Hooo God-_

She's starting to come.

It doesn't feel right though. It feels like shes-

Oh yikes is she _peeing_ on him? _Shit shit shit-_

Her eyes roll and she spasms. _Fuuuuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck **fuck**_

"Yes, you'd love that, wouldn't you, depraved little thing," he whispers straight into her ear. Not the least little bit disconcerted she is _pissing on him_ , it feels like. Nope. Mother fucker sounds _smug_. "The Mayor's little whore-daughter caught on the cock of the Sheriff. How afraid you will feel when you're blood doesn't come, week after week, and your belly starts to swell. Oh there shall be no escape for you then, Miss Tico. No mercy. Not with my babe in your belly-"

_DAN-GER DAN-GER SELF DESCTRUCT,_ her brain shrills warningly. Her eyes roll. She pants open-mouth and tongue lolling behind his hand, convulsing until his fingers withdraws.

Nope. She's not even in her body anymore. She's up on the ceiling, watching this man she has never clapped on eyes on in her _life_ unbuckle his belt with a silver-spur _clink-clink_ and snick down his zipper and take his huge, red cock out of his slacks.

She's like jelly as he drags her _by the hair_ off the counter and lets her puddle in a pile of bare breasts and pale damask and cream lace by his boots on the floor.

"Give us a kiss, Miss Tico," he goads her smugly, all teeth and no warmth, "since you're so _wonton_ for a hard cock."

_Has he ever, even_ one time _called it a cock?_

She literally does not care as mindlessly, hands pawing like a kitten’s at his thighs, she lurches forward and slurps him greedily into her mouth.

She just needs to hear it, just one time - from _this_ man - just once...

"Good little girl," he purrs. Her abused pussy spasms and she _moans._

He holds her by the hair and saws her soft mouth along his shaft, back and forth- back and forth- dragging his taste and texture across her tongue as her nose buries over and over again in his deep, pungent musk.

He's harder than he's been in their whole marriage. She feels him throbbing, hot and ridged and thick-veined, and all she can thinks is she wants him - this - in her pussy.

On the next back-drag, she pops off in a wet _lush_ of precum and drool dripping off his tip and her chin and wipes herself with her dainty lace glove.

"Please Sheriff," she whimpers, high and fluttery and she has wanted to beg a man - _her man_ \- like this - _all her live-long life_... "please fuck my pussy please _please_ oh Sheriff I want you to fuck my tight little pussy so bad-"

He _rips_ her up off the floor _snarling_. His hands like iron clap around her tender upper arms and he _marshals_ her into the open-floor plan living room, half-dragging her along the way, and bends her _deep_ over their sofa. So deep she feels her heart beating in the top of her head and her lungs in her throat.

The light is muffled by the toss of her skirts over her head.

Her thick, bare ass and fat thighs and trembling calves all gleam up at him from the back of the charcoal colored couch.

He runs his fingers down her slit and in the most surprising move of the afternoon, _slaps_ her pussy _hard_ \- hard enough she _yelps_ \- before he shoves himself inside.

His cock _piles_ into her. There are no terms, no resistance. Her wet, plushy insides split apart across his veined, ridged girth and she takes him up to the brim and _beyond_. Beyond-beyond. Huffing and whining with her big breasts under her chin and her diaphragm pressed into the sofa. So deep inside she feels him in her tummy and in her heart.

He slaps her ass _hard_ and grips her hips while she's still stinging and sets a brutal, merciless pace.

He's gonna fuck her through the couch.

Flesh slaps. He's going deep, staying there and _hammering_. Moving those sleek, beautiful hips she loves to hold in the shower and hug when she goes down on him like liquid mercury.

It feels _way_ too good.

He's snarling and chuffing above her. It's hot under her skirts from her panting and her blood is ringing in her ears.

Suddenly his hand grips her hair through the layers and he jerks her. The air is cool and crisp and sweet and rushing and the living room is naked-bright, exposing her to the black mirror of the flat screen television and his mean hate-growl in her ear as she bows.

"I'm going to fill you, girl, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. You're going to take me, and take me, and _take me_ , until you're so full of my love you cannot take another _drop_. And then when my baby is squirming inside you and the whole town knows you're _mine_ , I'm going to marry you. I'll take you like this every night and every morning, you'll fuck for me as I please until your little hole is so swollen and sore you're _weeping_. Even then, you'll beg me for my cock. You will _worship me_ -" his breath stutters. More than his fast-fucking, bombarding hips or his cock in her wet, lush sex, it's his own words that are getting him off.

Even in his fantasies, he's still Armitage.

She smiles. Reaches back and touches his sweaty cheek with her gloved hand. Through the backwards curve of her arc she can see his pleasure-pained grimace, hear his fast stuttering breaths.

She could come just from the way she owns this man.

Lock, stock, and heart.

"To hell with you, Sheriff," she whispers, breathless, still smiling around the edges. Campy, telenovela, _The Bold and the Beautiful_ stuff. "I'll never love you. _Never!_ "

He groans, holds her so hard around her waist she's gonna die and she _loves it_ , and pistons. Hot, wet and sloppy. _Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-_

Her cries get higher and higher and higher- his hold gets tighter and tighter and tighter - her ribs ache- she clenches her eyes-

_"Fuck, Armitage-"_ she comes in a hot-stinging _rush_.

He deep-groans - the first sound he's ever made coming - snatches her throat and _squeezes_ \- and comes.

They drift together against a clear, endless white sky.

"Whoa," she's hoarse a little- _that's cool_ \- and shaking as finally his hand slides away from her throat. He's trembling too, something she's never felt in eleven years of _everything_ \- and it makes her lip tremble. She leans her head back against his chest, folds her arms over his, and holds him.

"Thank you," he whispers into her wrecked hair before he kisses her part.

"You're welcome, Papa," her voice is bright, trembling. _Happy._ "You are way, way welcome."

They sway that way a little longer, letting the thrill between them fade slowly, like a trail of afterlight.

"Kids are gonna be off the bus soon," she whispers, eyes closed, not wanting the spell to break.

He nods, and the hat knocked loose by all that rough-riding bobbles a little on his head.

_Cute._

"Addy says she wants to watch _Paw Patrol_ with you. I told her you don't approve of that show because it's not educational enough-"

"She may watch HBO, for all I care," his voice is loose, relaxed, graveling. "Let them have sweets for dinner. Thomas may drive the car if he likes-"

"He's six," she's beaming.

"Let anarchy reign."

"Sure," she wiggles. "But first, cut me out of this dress."

A oneshot by PastelWonder

**Author's Note:**

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